


Nightly Shadows: Black is the colour

by Flexor



Series: Nightly Shadows [5]
Category: RWBY
Genre: End of Volume 4, F/M, Getting used to robo-arm, HappyFunSexyTiem, Love, One Night Stand, Reflection, Songs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2017-05-02
Packaged: 2018-10-27 01:58:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10799328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flexor/pseuds/Flexor
Summary: The end of Volume 4 finds Yang making her way to Haven Academy, riding her bike, sporting a brand new robo-arm. She stops at an inn where there's live music, performed by a similarly metal-armed singer. He generously offers Yang the use of his sofa for the night. Or the bed. Whatever she chooses.





	Nightly Shadows: Black is the colour

Yang Xiao Long's fast yellow motorcycle Bumblebee ate up the miles. The headlight pierced the night, turning the falling raindrops into little gems. Yang's left arm was cold. Her right arm didn't feel heat or cold, being made of metal. It wouldn't rust either, owing to the new bright black-and-yellow paintjob she'd given it to make it completely her own. Yang was on her way to Haven Academy, on the continent of Anima, in the lands of Mistral. Wet strands of hair streamed behind her, almost glowing in the moonlight. She was moving faster than anything short of an airship, but the road was long, and she wouldn't reach Mistral today, tomorrow, or even the day after. The letter from her little sister Ruby was safe in the inside pocket of her long coat. Yang had read it over and over again. Ruby had arrived safely in Mistral, Uncle Qrow was with her and was also safe, as were Ren, Nora, and Jaune. All safe and well at Haven academy. Safe, my _ass_. Cinder Fall was from Mistral, and like as not, the people she worked for were there. If Yang was any judge, a crapton of hurt was heading for her little sister, and Yang needed to be there and take some of the hits for her.

Finding out what her new metal arm could and could not do had been the main thing once she'd brought herself to put it on. What it could do was feel how tightly she was gripping something, pick up delicate things like eggs or glasses. It didn't feel anything else, like someone's touch. She could punch hard with it, and never have to bite through the pain like she had to with her left hand. It had a grip like a vise, and she could grab the sharpest of blades, break them with a snap of her wrist, then stab the owner. She could pick up hot things with it. Stir hot tea with her finger. Loosen and tighten nuts and bolts on Bumblebee without a wrench. As a bit of a party trick, she could straighten it, take it off, then scratch her back with it. A perfect way to freak people out.

Most importantly, she could hug her little sister with it. 

 

She almost missed the sign in the dark, but a few miles up ahead, there was an inn. A few moments later, she saw the friendly blinking light, and Yang parked her motorbike in front, got off on stiff legs, and walked inside. The place was about half full, and there was a guy with a guitar on an improvised stage, singing. She took off her long coat and put it on a barstool. A waitress walked up to her with a friendly smile.

"What can I get you, love?"

"Strong hot coffee, please," said Yang.

"Coming right up."

The waitress pulled out a saucer from below the counter and put it in front of Yang. She turned round and started operating the doomsday device. Yang watched her pick up a cup, pour in hot water from the machine to warm it, fill up one of the filters with coffee from an electric grinder. She tipped the hot water out of Yang's cup, put it under the filter. The machine hissed and two small streams of dark liquid gold ran into the cup. When it was full, she put the cup on the saucer, added one of those stupid little wrapped biscuits and a spoon.

"One lien, free refills. Sugar and milk are over there."

"Thanks," said Yang, putting the money on the bar. These days, she took her coffee black, no sugar. Black as midnight on a moonless night. Black as her soul. Speaking of midnight...

"Miss? Do you have any rooms for the night?"

The waitress shook her head. "Sorry love, we've got only four rooms, and they're all taken. There's a place forty miles East. I'd call ahead for you, but..."

"CCTS is down, I know. Thanks anyway."

Yang took her coffee to an empty table, tasted it, making sure to use her right hand to hold the cup. She had broken more than a few glasses and cups at home before she'd gotten the feel for how hard to grip them. Technically, Yang's arm was pefectly capable of delicate work, but she had eighteen years of practice to catch up on. Strangely, beating the crap out of people was the easiest thing. The normal things. Turning on a light. Holding her scroll without breaking the screen. Writing with a pencil. Picking up a one-lien card from the table. That was much more difficult. Yang found herself still tying her shoelaces with her left hand, now that she'd got the knack, and not bothering to re-learn it with two hands again. She sighed. Give it time.

It was damn good coffee. And _hot_. Yang looked at the stage, a corner in the room with a few spotlights on the talent. A man with buzz-cut dark hair and an old guitar with patches of bare wood on the sound board, sat on a chair, singing a mix of sad and funny songs from all over Remnant. Yang started to look away, but then something caught her eye and she could not help staring.

The singer's right arm was a prosthetic like hers.

Breathing in slowly, she watched him play, mechanical fingers moving on the strings easily. Unless his arm was specially made for playing the guitar, he must have had it for years. He finished a soldier's song that ended on a rather morbid note with the private hanging on the old barbed wire. He exchanged a glance with the landlord, nodded. One more.

"I was over in Vale city doing a gig, it was fairly late, and the fellow who was on before me sang this, and I asked him, give us that old song, and he did." 

>   
>  Black is the colour of my true love's hair  
>  Her lips are like some roses fair  
>  She has the sweetest smile, and the gentlest hands,  
>  and I love the ground whereon she stands.  
> 

Yang sat still for the entire song, thinking about her dark-haired loved ones. Ruby. Blake. She thought about Weiss as well, even though her hair was white. Yang had to swallow a lump in her throat. The singer caught her eye, smiled at her as he finished the song. There was some scattered clapping, and he gave a little nod. He unplugged his guitar and walked up to Yang's table. He gave her a little wave. Yang started to lift her left hand, changed her mind and waved back with her own metal arm.

"Mind if I join you?"

"Please," said Yang.

The singer sat down next to her, held out his metal hand. Yang took it with her own. Army buddies already.

"Umber," he said.

"Yang."

"Like your arm. Lovely paint job."

"Thanks."

"You haven't had it for long." It wasn't a question. "I can tell. You haven't given up caring if people stare at it yet."

Yang gave a little chuckle. "I'm used to being stared at, trust me."

Umber looked Yang over. "I believe you."

"Loved that last song you did," said Yang. "Who wrote it?"

Umber shrugged. "Nobody. Everybody. It's trad. I learnt it from someone else, and there's at least three other versions of it." He smiled. "Your boyfriend has dark hair?"

"Sister," said Yang. "I'm going to Haven to pull her out of trouble."

"Hm."

"And now you still don't know if I have a boyfriend."

"My subtle plan has failed," said Umber.

Yang pointed at Umber's arm. "How long have you had yours?"

"Five years," said Umber. "Lost my arm in a Grimm accident. You?"

"Took my fists to a swordfight," said Yang. "Half a year ago. How long did it take you to learn playing the guitar again?"

"Not very long," said Umber. "I don't play, I don't eat. I started out simple, of course. Do you play?"

Yang shook her head. "Never did. Can't carry a tune in a bucket."

"Ech! This is folk music! All you need is three chords and the Truth. Take a hold of this."

Umber put his guitar in Yang's lap, and sidled up next to her.

"Just strum it. I'll hold down the chords for you. One two three four..."

Yang gave Umber a look, then drew her fingernail across the strings once.

"Keep going," said Umber.

While Yang strummed the strings, Umber went from chord to chord, and sang a song that had outstayed in people's memories anything Yang had ever had on her scroll. She couldn't help joining in in the chorus. On the final "The answer my friend", Umber sang the harmony. Yang looked at him, a grin on her face. She handed Umber his guitar back.

"You staying here?" said Umber.

"No," said Yang. "No more rooms at the inn."

"I have a room," said Umber. "Double bed all to myself."

Yang gave him a _look_.

"Are you trying to get me in bed with you?"

"Well, the way I see it, you can choose. On the one hand, you can get back on your motorbike, ride through the rainy night to the next inn, and wake up some grumpy night porter just to hear that they are full as well, and end up sleeping outside in the cold. Gods know I have had my share of nights sleeping in the car. Or on the _metal_ hand, you can have another drink, and spend the night in a warm comfortable bed, being told for hours how beautiful you are, and wake up happy and rested to go find that sister of yours."

"You often pick up girls in inns?"

"Not nearly as often as you may think, and normally nowhere near as nice as you." Umber looked away a second. "Look. Us cyborgs have to stick together and I like you. Stay the night with me, and I'll let you choose between the sofa and the bed."

"Oh, that's so _nice_ of you!" Yang's eyes sparkled innocently.

Umber got to his feet. "I will be in the bed. Now I've got another set. Have your free refill of Clara's coffee, think about it."

Umber walked back to the stage, sat down.

"And now one specially for the nice lady at the table by the wall."

Umber sang, looking straight at her. 

> There were two sisters side by side  
>  Sing I down sing I day  
>  There were two sisters side by side  
>  The boys are bound for me  
>  There were two sisters side by side  
>  the eldest for young Johnny cried  
>  I'll be true unto my love, if you'll be true to me.  
> 

 

He only started playing after the first verse. His pitch was spot on. Yang had to smile. So he had perfect pitch. Showoff. Yang laughed when she heard that the song was a murder ballad about an older sister drowning her younger sibling to get at her boyfriend. Umber did have a sense of humour that Yang quite liked.

Yang didn't _need_ to murder her little sister for attention, thankyouverymuch. Ruby, who was too young to be doing _that_ kind of thing anyway, would sooner fall in love with some boy's mighty sword than, well, his "mighty sword". Hang on. Yang thought a moment. It was past Ruby's birthday, wasn't it? Oh by the Divine Brothers, her little baby sister was now _legal_! And she was with _two_ fairly cute boys. Nora would probably kill her if she tried anything with Ren, 'not together-together' my _foot_. Jaune was most likely not over Pyrrha yet, so he would not be in the mood to do it with Ruby, and truth be told, Jaune had never been what you'd call a Love Ninja. But who knows who Ruby might meet on her travels? It wasn't like Yang could complain, though. Yang looked up at Umber, who had launched into a beautiful sad song about exiles. She was about to climb into bed with a musician she'd only first seen ten, twenty minutes ago.

Um...

Was she?

Why yes she was.

Wasn't it funny how that decision had crept up on her while she was thinking about completely different things? Yang thought about Blake, who would simply have turned herself off if Umber had tried anything with her, and ignored him completely. She'd done that with Yang and Ruby the day they first met until Ruby reached out and asked her about the book she was reading. Not that Blake didn't get the hots now and then, but Blake needed special feelings to get her motor running. From the one or two hints Blake had dropped, once you did get Blake's motor running, it _really_ ran. But Blake needed that spark.

Yang didn't.

To Yang, sex was almost like an art form. The art of squeezing every last drop of fun out of the act of being together. Every last look, every last sigh of pleasure, every sound, every touch. Giving yourself completely, falling down completely exhausted, then catching your breath and doing it again and again. She only needed the boy to have the same mindset of giving and taking and enjoying all the things. She didn't _need_ to love someone dearly to enjoy herself.

Who did she really love? It was a short list: Ruby. Dad. Summer Rose, who would always be Mum even if Yang would find Raven. Blake. Weiss. Uncle Qrow, maybe. Yang looked at the coffee cup in her hand, and emptied it, wincing. It had gone cold. None of the people she really loved were people she wanted to do it with. Yang had enjoyed an active, varied love life back at Signal, and hadn't cared about being called every name in the book for it. At Beacon, not so much. Funny that they'd call it a 'love life'. Had she ever done it with someone she really loved? Certainly not the boy she'd been with at the age of fifteen years, eleven months, thirty days, twenty-three hours, and fifty-nine minutes, rubber in hand, watching the clock with an excited grin on her face, wearing only a pair of underwear and a tank top that could come off in two seconds flat. Not the boy who she'd seen regularly for breathless nights and Sunday afternoons for three or four months. Yang looked up. And definitely not this travelling troubadour. Even as they exchanged smiles while he sang about golden locks and shining eyes, Yang wondered.

What _would_ sex be like with someone you really love?

What would it be like to make love? 

 

The set ended. The obligatory encore ended. Umber did not wait for the applause to end, but walked straight over to Yang.

"You're still here. I'm glad. Not feeling like a midnight bike-ride, then?"

"Nope."

"Can I get you a drink before bed?"

"Strawberry sunrise," said Yang. "No ice. With a little umbrella."

Umber laughed. "If I ask Clara, she'll throw me out. The white wine is okay here. Or cranberry juice. Don't go for anything off the top shelf. It's all sugar, paint, and gin. I love this place, but not for its liquor."

"Juice is good."

Umber walked off and Yang looked round. One or two people were looking at her with knowing grins, but she ignored them. They sat sipping their drinks, chatting about life on the road, about Ruby. What struck Yang most about Umber, was how relaxed he was. She still hadn't said yes, but either he was confident enough that she would, or he was grown-up enough to take "no" for an answer. Which was nice.

Yang emptied her glass. Umber's was empty.

"Ready?" he said.

"Armed and ready."

They walked up the stairs, Yang first. She didn't look round to see if he was looking at her butt. Didn't need to. He unlocked the door with an old-fashioned key. Thrusting the key into the keyhole. Very meaningful. He waved her in, and Yang looked round. There really was a sofa. Umber came in after her and put down his guitar case on the floor, out of the way. He closed the door, locked it, left the key in. He turned to Yang.

"Have you decided yet? Sofa or bed?"

"Hmm. Hard choice," said Yang.

"The sofa is stuffed with broken bricks. I've used it for keeping myself awake while writing a song."

Yang laughed. "Not that you'd want to push me one direction or the other."

"Well, if I've not made clear what I'd like best, I do apologise."

Yang stepped up close to him, looking into his eyes.

"It's been a rough year," she said. "I think I can use an hour or two of being told how beautiful I am."

Umber smiled, reached out, pushed a lock of Yang's long blonde curly hair behind her ear.

"Well?" said Yang.

"Very," said Umber. "Incredibly, heart-stoppingly so."

"Go on."

Umber put his hands on Yang's hips, pulled her to him. Yang put her arms round his neck. He could kiss her. If he wanted to, of course. Some time this night for preference. She closed her eyes, then opened them again.

"Oh."

"What?"

"This is my first time since..." Yang nodded at her arm. "Anything special I need to think of?"

Umber laughed out loud, looked into Yang's eyes. "Remember how strong you are, and the most important thing..."

"Yeah?"

"Warm up your hand before touching me with it."

"Got it." Yang giggled, closed her eyes again. They kissed. His breath smelt faintly of white wine. He gently nudged her towards the bed, and they made their way there in an unsteady kind of dance. Yang fell down on the bed, unzipped her chunky boots, held them up to Umber, who helpfully pulled them off for her. Since he was by her legs already, he also pulled off her trousers.

"Your legs are nicer than mine," said Umber, a man of his word.

"Show me yours," said Yang.

It took them only seconds to get out of their clothes. To Yang's delight, Umber seemed to be the kind of man who made a woman _want_ to do nice things to him, by doing nice things to her first. He kissed his way down from her lips, lingering on her breasts, then down her stomach.

"I love natural blondes," he said.

Yang took a shivering breath. "Lucky me."

"No, lucky _me_."

He bent down, and Yang took a sharp breath. She gripped the sheets tightly, till the servos in her hand clicked and there was a ripping sound. Umber tapped his finger on her metal hand.

"Careful now. Don't want to be holding me when you do that."

Yang let go. Umber continued what he was doing. Yang gave a low moan. Ye gods, how she'd missed this! Signal was a lifetime ago. Beacon had been a dry spell, because reasons. This was just what the doctor ordered. She put her left hand on Umber's brush-short hair, made encouraging noises until he hit just the right spot and Yang nearly launched herself off the bed. Umber stayed with her, letting Yang ride out her orgasm till the last shiver. She pulled him up next to him, kissed him, fought to catch her breath. They grinned at each other.

"Good," said Yang. "Nice."

Yang, being the healthy athletic girl she was, took only a few moments to recover. She turned Umber onto his back and sat down on his legs. Looking only into his eyes, she ran her hands down his stomach, licked her lips when she found what she was looking for. Her hair fell down her shoulders, partially covering her breasts.

"Ye gods, you're gorgeous," said Umber.

"Flattery will get you things," said Yang, moving her hands up and down slowly.

Umber's hands slid up Yang's waist, to her heavy breasts. She took a breath, concentrating on the difference between Umber's left and right hand.

"Going to need something from the guitar case," said Umber.

"Huh?" Yang frowned, then understood. "Oh right. Hang on, I'm carrying."

"Smart, _and_ beautiful," said Umber.

"Heh." Yang reached out for her bag, and pulled a few shiny packages from a side pocket. She glanced at the use-by date. Gods, she'd put those in the bag with her own right hand. She tore open the package, fumbled, dropped the rubber.

"Gimme," said Umber. "Don't want it to break."

Yang nodded. After a bit of a scare aged sixteen, Dad had taken her to the doctor, who had made perfectly sure that Yang would not be bearing fruit until she paid him another visit. But rubbers protect you from more than unexpected motherhood. She watched Umber put it on, impatient, but not wanting to rush him.

"There," said Umber. "Want to be on the top or the bottom?"

"Both," said Yang.

She reached down with her soft delicate left hand, put the tip of Umber's well-wrapped cock between her legs. She kept looking into his eyes as she lowered herself onto him, listening to him grunt. She put her hands on his shoulders, her right hand in a fist to stop herself crushing his arm should she lose control. Never losing eye contact, Yang started to move. This was her favorite position. It gave the boy something nice to look at, or play with, and Yang had complete control over the angle, so she could have him touch her inside exactly where she wanted it. Her breath started to race. _And_ it was good healthy exercise. His hands were on her hips, pulling her to him, faster... faster! Yang's skin started to glow with sweat. Her hair started to glow with an inner light. The bed started to creak dangerously, telling anyone in the next rooms exactly what was going on. It turned her on like... whatever. A very turned-on thing. Umber groaned beneath her. He suddenly grabbed her wrists, pulled them up so Yang landed on top of him, her breasts pressed flat against his chest. Umber wrapped his arms round her waist, and pushed into her frantically. Yang's hair hung in front of her eyes, brushing Umber's face. Faster he went, until finally, he pressed into her, held still with a shout. Yang reached for her orgasm, couldn't quite make it. Umber held her tight, rolled them both over, continued pushing into her. He whispered in her ear.

"Come on, baby. Come on."

Yang pulled up her knees, wrapped her legs round his waist, tightened herself round him... _Yes!_

They collapsed in a hot sweaty heap, Umber's weight pressing pleasingly down on Yang, fighting for breath. Yang tried to brush her hair out of her eyes, misjudged slightly and hit her forehead. Ow. Nevermind. She smiled up at Umber, who had a similar silly grin on his face.

"We may have broken the bed," he said.

Yang kissed him.

"If it's already broken, why stop?" 

* * *

 

Morning peeked in through the curtains, gently touched Yang's face. Yang wrinkled her nose, woke up. Someone's prosthetic arm was wrapped round her, hand on her breast. Someone was gently snoring behind her. For just a few more moments, Yang pulled up the blanket, enjoying the warmth. Then, she carefully pulled up Umber's arm and got out. She was a sticky mess of dried-up sweat and crumpled hair, so she took a quick shower, brushed her hair, found her clothes, put them on. She looked at the bed, where Umber was sleeping peacefully. Not wanting just to go without saying goodbye, she pulled up a chair and watched him till he woke up. He smiled at her.

"You know, you singers are really full of it," said Yang. "All those songs starting 'I woke up one morning.' Worst nonsense I've ever heard."

Umber laughed, got up. Yang stood up from her chair, looking away from Umber's uncovered groin, as if time was up and she was no longer allowed. He stroked her cheek with his left hand, making her smile.

"Thank you for letting me stay the night," said Yang.

"Thank you for staying," said Umber. "Hey."

"What?"

"You really _are_ beautiful, you know? Arm and all. I wasn't just saying it."

"Thank you." Yang took a deep breath. "Gotta go."

Umber nodded. "Hope it all works out with that sister of yours."

"Yeah. Me too."

They kissed one more time, and with a wave, Yang walked out of the door, pulling on her coat. She got on her motorbike, looked back at the top floor window once, then started the engine and rode off into the distance. Rested. Happy. Determined. 

* * *

 

Umber watched Yang walk out, watched the door close. He looked at the ruins of the bed. This had been a _good_ night. He lay back down. Pulled the blanket over him. Closed his eyes. He waited a few moments, then opened them again. Who was he kidding, he wasn't going to fall asleep again. He looked at the window. She'd be miles away by now, and he'd be going in the opposite direction. His face became still. Then, in a sudden flurry of activity, he jumped out of bed, pulled on his trousers, and reached into his guitar case for a notebook and a pencil. He started on a new page, wrote down a title. He pulled out his guitar for later, sat down at the table, chewed on his pencil, then started to write. 

**Author's Note:**

> I mention the odd song in this story, and this is a list of Youtube links for them, and who is singing them:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_K1BdDVvV9Q - Hanging on the old barbed wire, this version by Chumbawamba.  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uKBNmU4Gy58 - Black is the colour, Christy Moore  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GhnPOUyEomc - Two sisters, Clannad  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G58XWF6B3AA - Blowing in the wind, by literally everybody who ever held a guitar.  
> Hanging on the old barbed wire is a WW-I soldier song. They tried to ban it because it'd be bad for morale. I haven't been able to find who actually wrote "Black is the colour", but I learnt it from a Christy Moore CD, and he got it from Hamish Imlach. I don't know if Mr. Imlach originally wrote it. Two Sisters is as old as dirt, and a fine morbid example of a murder ballad it is. Even Yang can belt along with "Blowing In The Wind" and if you don't know who wrote that, I will gladly take you to our leader.
> 
> If I ever podfic this, I'll sing all of them. You have been warned.


End file.
